


The New Culture of Therapeutic Activity with Older People in Care Home Settings

by phoebesmum



Category: Sports Night
Genre: Family, Ficlet, Llamas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-01
Updated: 2009-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-04 01:29:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoebesmum/pseuds/phoebesmum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Happiness is llama-shaped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The New Culture of Therapeutic Activity with Older People in Care Home Settings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laylee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laylee/gifts).



> Written March 2007, as a birthday gift for Laylee. I pinched the title from a book I happened to be reading at the time. It seemed apposite.

Casey's father had been … difficult: demanding, stern, unyielding. Not that Casey ever said so out loud; the man was his _father_, with all that that implied. But he admitted it tacitly, dedicating his life to trying his hardest not to repeat the old man's mistakes, to give Charlie all the love and support and freedom that a boy might need.

He never talked about it to Dan. Not much, anyway. Disloyalty again, and, besides, Dan had his own, equally non-verbalised, father issues. Maybe every man did. Maybe all the efforts Casey was making with his own son were futile after all. It didn't matter. He _was_ making the effort; that's what counts.

It's all academic now. Since the second stroke, Casey's father has lost all the authority he'd worked so hard to build, has become small and weak and pathetic. Ironically, Casey hates visiting him now, seeing him like this, more than he ever did back in the hectoring bully days. It makes him feel sad and guilty and, strangely, lonesome. Still, again, he tries, he makes the effort. What else can he do?

Charlie goes with him sometimes, and sits, quiet and pinched-face, in a chair by the window, sometimes furtively breathing into his sleeve to try to block out the smell of sickness and age and death that permeates the walls of the nursing home, while Casey stands by the bed and tries to make small-talk. It's a draining, miserable experience for both of them and, even though Casey tries to sweeten the pill with a stop for ice-cream on the way home, it doesn't do much to mitigate the ordeal.

Today is different. They notice as soon as they step through the doors. The place seems brighter, lighter, the dark cloud that deadens the corridors lifted. People are smiling and, along the hallway, Casey can hear laughter. He and Charlie exchange glances, raise eyebrows, and head toward Cameron Mcall's room.

An attendant calls to them. "He's not there today," and she waves a hand garden-ward. "He's outside – everyone's outside." She smiles. "We have a special visitor!"

Curious – his father's barely left his bed in years, only to be helped to the bathroom, to be strapped into his wheelchair once a week for church – Casey ushers Charlie in the direction she'd indicated. They come out into the gardens, green and leafy and spacious, flowerbeds a riot of colour, birds singing in the treetops, butterflies and bees flitting from blossom to blossom, a small oasis of calm and beauty in the midst of the grim reality of dying that, ordinarily, is deserted. Not today. Today the perfect lawn is torn and rutted with the tracks of wheelchairs and the dents of walking frames; the inmates have been winkled from the shells of their cold, lonely, fetid rooms and sit blinking surprisedly in the sunlight.

The reason for all the excitement stands centre stage, chewing contentedly, fluttering long, dark lashes, and occasionally letting out a gentle bleat as trembling, liver-spotted hands reach shakily to pet her fur.

"Dad!" Charlie says – shrieks, actually. "It's a llama!"

"Yes," Casey agrees. He can see that for himself. "Evidently it is." He has no idea _why_ there is a llama in a nursing home; it seems as out of place as … well, as a llama in a nursing home. He guesses it's some kind of tactile therapy. He's no expert on the care of the elderly, but hasn't it been proved that petting an animal can reduce blood pressure? Only he'd thought more along the lines of cats, maybe a small dog. A Pomeranian, perhaps, or a Peke.

But from the smiles brightening the wrinkled faces that surround them, it seems as if llamatherapy could be the big, new, up-and-coming thing. And the llama – his own hand is reaching out, apparently of its own volition, to run voluptuous fingers through the soft fleece – is certainly a handsome specimen.

He leaves Charlie enrapt, and searches the ranks of the aged for his own father; sees him at the far end of the lawn, and makes his way over to him. The old man's chin is sunk on his chest, and Casey thinks perhaps he's asleep, but as he nears him he lifts his head and, to Casey's astonishment, his face lights up.

"Hello, son," says Cameron. "It's good to see you."

***


End file.
